My soul is wracked with the most exquisite pain
Such a passionate wave of wasted time and energy
I bargain with some higher authority
Begging to be taken in some benevolent fashion
A heart attack perhaps while I’m sleeping
Away on vacation so my children don’t discover an empty shell
Or, better yet,
If just my soul could be taken
So that a better soul can take over for me
Be the hero in this wasteland of life I’ve created
My children would still have my face
Only the eyes would sparkle more
The lips, smile more often
The voice, speak in less harsh tones
Even sing sweetly perhaps
The brain could be manipulated with better thoughts than mine
And perhaps the walk-in could figure out how
Not to rob Peter to pay Paul every month
How to love the children unconditionally
Despite the parenting challenges
How to be happy, alone, and not crave a hand to hold just to hang on

Alas, it does not come.
My meditations and supplications ended,
My consciousness still housed in this body I have less than cared for.
Now the pile is too high
Fetid and rotting
And I can’t climb over.
I despair, but to no avail.

Empty handed, uninspired, I wander though these days
Falling asleep everywhere to escape the wretched present
Finding my dreams, now, filled with
The dank odor of every dark place in my life.

It feels too late.
I hear the cheerleaders filling the stadiums
Their chorus of nauseating encouragement
Accosting my grief stricken cloak
Nothing protects me
There is no place to rest
My being constantly renewed
In the internal mantra of being lame and useless.

06/21/2006

Posted on 06/21/2006
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie